


Midnight Railway

by aritzen



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 09:23:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6278830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aritzen/pseuds/aritzen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yaku moves to Kyoto for university, and Kuroo is too chicken to follow - until he finally does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight Railway

**it’s night before it’s afternoon**

 

Yaku finds him slumped against the front door one summer night, three years into college. “Shit, Kuroo. What the hell? How did you get here?”

Kuroo raises his head. “Yaku?” His eyes light up. “Yaku, hey, you’re back.”

“It’s almost midnight. When did you get here? Why didn’t you text or call?”

“Don’t have my phone,” he murmurs, averting his gaze, and gets to his feet with a grunt.

He is still tall—of course he is; people don’t shrink in the twelve months you haven’t seen them. He is still athletic, perhaps more so now than he was at seventeen even though he no longer plays volleyball on a regular team. But he is also different, weary where mischief used to define his lopsided grin.

Yaku sighs and unlocks his door. “Come inside. Watch your feet,” he says after he spots a pair of glowing eyes peering at them, and turns on the light to reveal a black cat crouching in the entryway. “That’s Catsura. There’s another one called Catoki. He’s probably snoozing somewhere.” He dumps his book bag on the floor and hands Kuroo a pair of slippers.

“Catsura and Catoki? What kind of names are those? They’re so—” Kuroo breaks off and clears his throat when Yaku glares at him. Catsura begins to purr, rubbing his head against Kuroo’s legs, jingling the bell on his blue collar. “So, uh, when did you get them?”

“A few months ago,” Yaku answers from the kitchen. He pours two glasses of water and passes one to Kuroo. “They showed up on my porch one day and refused to leave.”

Kuroo hums and nudges Catsura with the toe that the cat was sniffing.

“Well?” Yaku prompts, folding his arms. “Want to tell me why you came all the way to Kyoto just to camp outside my door?”

Kuroo stops poking Catsura, his expression distant, and takes a gulp of his water. “I fucked up,” he says with a shrug. “She threw me out. So here I am.”

Yaku narrows his eyes. _She._ Last he heard, Kuroo was dating some girl named Makoto or Matsuko or was it Matako. That was about a year ago, when Kuroo was still sharing an apartment with Bokuto. One year, Yaku supposes, is enough time for a lot to develop and a lot to change without him knowing.

“That doesn’t explain why you’re in Kyoto,” says Yaku.

After all, Tokyo should be his home with more than one place to shelter him after a bad breakup. But when Kuroo lets the drone of the fridge fill the room, Yaku sets his glass on the counter and says, “It’s late. You can sleep on the couch. I’ll get you a new toothbrush.”

 

**the questions are complicated and the answers are simple**

 

Kuroo was dead certain he’d just entered a war zone. A bag of flour must have detonated in the kitchen along with a few cocoa powder grenades. Egg shells littered the counter like shrapnels. At the center of the linoleum battlefield stood the commander-in-chief and his army of whisks and tin bowls. Kuroo squinted at his roommate and said, “What the hell are you doing, Bokuto?”

“I miss Akaashi.”

“What?”

“I said, I miss Akaashi.”

“I heard that. What does Akaashi have to do with what you’re doing? Are you baking?”

“Yes. I miss Akaashi, so I’m baking. You got a problem with that?”

Recognizing the surly tone, Kuroo furrowed his brows. A sulky Bokuto was an entertainment for the opponents on the volleyball court but a land mine elsewhere. This was not what he’d envisioned walking into his apartment the Friday afternoon after the first week of class. “What’s wrong, Bokuto? Your new setter doing a crappy job or something? You seemed happy with him the other day.”

“Oh, Oikawa is great. He’s fantastic. He’s top-notch. But he’s not Akaashi. I miss Akaashi.”

“Well, alright. So why are you baking? Shouldn’t you be hanging out with Akaashi if you miss Akaashi? He’s not that far away.” _Not like Yaku. Not like Yaku three hundred miles away._

“I just want to bake a cake for Akaashi, okay? You can’t stop me.”

“I’m not trying to. I’m just—hang on, backtrack. You’re baking a cake for Akaashi?”

“That’s what I said. Are you deaf today, Kuroo?”

“Is it his birthday?”

“Cripes, no. His birthday is in December. It’s April.”

“So why are you baking a cake for him?”

“Because I miss him. I told you already.”

“So you did,” Kuroo muttered. He studied the printout of a volleyball cake recipe on the table. “Bokuto, if I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were in love with Akaashi.”

He’d spoken in jest, expecting Bokuto to respond with a splutter of hot denials. Instead, Bokuto stopped fussing with the hemisphere pan, dropping it with a clang, and glowered at Kuroo.

“What,” snapped Bokuto. “Is that wrong?”

“What? No! No, it’s not. Not at all. It’s totally cool. I got your back, bro.” Kuroo gave a thumbs up while Bokuto scrunched his nose and turned back to his cake batter. His words appeared to have placated Bokuto, but they rang hollow to his ears. Like some sort of mantra to drown out the words of someone else. It was too late, however, and he was hurled back in time to his second year of high school, when one day after practice, he was alone with Yaku and unable to contain himself any longer until Yaku pushed him away, saying _this is a bad idea._

 

**games you can’t win, ‘cause you play against you**

 

Standing in the doorway, carrying a blanket and a pillow, watching Kuroo tease Catsura with a feather wand, Yaku discovers a practical problem: Kuroo is too tall for his couch. He fits snugly when he naps on it occasionally, but that means Kuroo’s feet will end up dangling over the armrest. “Tall people problems,” he grumbles under his breath.

Oblivious to his conundrum, Kuroo smiles at him, at once tired, grateful, and simply content. Yaku digs his fingers into the blanket, his chest tightening. He hates it. He hates how charming Kuroo can be, how unprepared he is for this surge of past emotions. It’s so unfair.

“You know what,” he blurts out and storms back to his room. “I’ll set up the futon for you.”

“What? Yaku, wait. The couch is fine.”

He flings the blanket and the pillow onto his bed, inadvertently sending the white Persian cat there leaping into the air and sprinting out the door.

“Holy crap, what the heck was that? Catoki?” Kuroo exclaims from the hallway, followed by a pause. “Hey, Yaku.” His voice wavers, and so does his stance as he hovers outside Yaku’s bedroom.

Tugging the futon mattress out of the closet, Yaku says, “Do you want to shower while I set this up? Clean towels are in the cabinet over there. You can borrow a spare yukata too, if you want. It’ll be a size too small for you, but it should be okay.”

“Yaku, you don’t have to do this. I’m fine. The couch is fine—”

“The couch is too small for you, and you know it!” Yaku jumps to his feet and shoves Kuroo toward the bathroom, snatching up a towel and a yukata on the way. “Go shower!”

“Alright, alright. I’m going.”

“And put your clothes in the washer so I can run it tonight. I don’t have underwear to give you.”

“Yes, Mom.”

Yaku huffs and returns to his room, where the futon mattress has flipped open and is lying crooked on the wooden floor. The bathroom door closes with a soft click, and he takes a deep breath. His heart is hammering. His trembling fingers can still feel the fabric of Kuroo’s shirt and the body heat beneath it.

This is bad. The last time he was alone with Kuroo, years ago, they wound up tangled on the floor, hormones raging, his hands under Kuroo’s shirt and Kuroo’s mouth on his neck. That can’t happen again. He squeezes his eyes shut. He knows he can disconnect himself from this, because he’s managed to keep Kuroo at arm’s length since that day, despite being in the same class, playing on the same team, and seeing him almost every single day for three whole years.

Pretend this is camp, he tells himself. (This is a terrible idea.) It’s just like camp. (No, it’s a really terrible idea.) Summer camp with everybody. (Terrible, terrible idea.)

 

**think and wonder, wonder and think**

 

Reclining in a beach chair under a thatch umbrella, Kuroo whooped when Kai brought back a bag of ice pops purchased from a nearby stall. “Thanks, man,” he said as he reached for the grape-flavored one. “Kenma had the right idea to stay home today. It’s too fucking hot.”

“It’s not so bad in the shade,” Kai replied, taking the other chair.

“Tell that to the masochists.” Kuroo nodded toward the sand court next to them, where Bokuto had rounded up three of his old Fukuroudani teammates, including his now boyfriend Akaashi, to play in the Super Awesome High School Reunion Unofficial Beach Volleyball Tournament.

“Bokuto looks like he’s having fun though.”

“Yeah, and Konoha looks like he’s ready to die.”

As if on cue, Bokuto spiked the ball while Konoha dived for it but missed. He lay on his side for a moment before he rolled onto his back, his limbs splaying out, but he immediately jerked upright and swore at the sand for scorching his skin. Sucking on his ice pop, Kuroo picked up the ball that had landed near his chair and tossed it to Komi.

“Trade my spot for your ice pop?” asked Komi.

“Nuh-uh,” said Kuroo. “Pretty sure there’s no player substitution in beach volleyball.”

“Goddammit.”

“Just give the game to him.”

“Believe me, we’re trying. We’re trying so hard. But we can’t be blatant about it, or he’ll get upset.”

“Hey hey hey!” Bokuto shouted. “Let’s go, Komi! Five more points!”

Komi groaned. “Why did we agree to come? We knew this was going to happen.”

Kuroo smirked. “A fit of sentimentality, maybe?”

Komi made a face and trudged back to the court. “Hey, Konoha. You know what’s a brilliant idea? Kill Bokuto. Let’s do it.”

“But I just want to laze around in a pool. Bokuto, can’t we go to the pool?”

“We can’t play volleyball in a pool,” Bokuto complained.

Kuroo snorted. “Did I ever tell you about my class trip?” he asked Kai. “We went to a beach my first year. The hotel we stayed at had this pool that came with a volleyball net and a basketball hoop. Yaku was pretty upset at first, saying something about tall people having more of an unfair advantage in water. But then he got really into it, treating it as some sort of epic training session. We never figured out pool basketball though. I mean, how are you supposed to dribble in water?”

“You don’t dribble in pool basketball,” Kai said with a chuckle. “You just hold the ball, but there’s a time limit. Ten seconds, if I remember correctly.”

“Oh, that makes sense.” Kuroo drained his ice pop and dropped the plastic tube into the trash can. “Say, it’s almost Yaku’s birthday, isn’t it?”

“Oh right, it’s almost August. I wonder how he’s doing in Kyoto.”

“What if we get the old team together and throw him a surprise party in Kyoto?”

“You want to do that?”

Kuroo could read the surprise on Kai’s face, but he couldn’t decipher the twinkle in Kai’s eyes. “Never mind. Stupid idea. It’s Bokuto’s fault. His stupidity is contagious. Did I tell you he tried to bake a cake for Akaashi? He totally failed, but at least he didn’t blow up the kitchen.”

On the sand court, Bokuto spiked another ball out of bounds and squawked. While he bemoaned the smaller court size and Akaashi tried to console him, Konoha stared at the ball as if it had betrayed him.

“You know,” Kai said suddenly. “Kyoto’s not that far away.”

Kuroo fixed his gaze on Kai, aware of what his former vice captain was suggesting. Only one person on the Nekoma team knew about Kuroo and Yaku, and it was Kai, who had witnessed their antics from day one and followed the course of their relationship as it went from friction to spark to fire and then to ashes. _It’s bad for the team,_ Yaku had said.

“Kai, he went to Kyoto to avoid me.”

“That’s not true. He didn’t get into Todai, so you can’t expect him to turn down Kyodai.”

“I guess,” Kuroo muttered, fiddling with the string on his swim trunks. “But he got into Keio...”

“It’s decided. We’re going to Kyoto. Do you want to plan the party or do you want me to do it?”

“What? Are you serious? We can’t... I don’t... It’s not...”

“Look, you miss him. I miss him too. I’m sure the whole team misses him. So why not?”

“But that’s such a stupid idea.”

“Bokuto’s doing pretty well, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Hey hey hey!” Bokuto called out, swaggering toward them. “I’m doing great! We won!”

Konoha collapsed facedown beside Kuroo’s chair and held out a hand. “Ice pop,” he croaked.

Kuroo chucked one at him and laughed when the cold drippy snack bounced off his bare back and elicited a yelp. Akaashi joined them under the umbrella, unfazed when Bokuto pecked him on the cheek. Kuroo pointedly did not look at Kai as he kicked sand at Konoha, because he wasn’t Bokuto and Yaku wasn’t Akaashi, but the hopeful part of him conceded that going to Kyoto wasn’t that bad of an idea.

 

**take every chance, drop every fear**

 

Kenma: did kuro arrive  
Yaku: You knew? Why didn’t you stop him?  
Kenma: no point

Yaku sighs at Kenma’s text reply and sets his phone aside. The bathroom door opens, and he glances up from his laptop, sitting cross-legged on the couch. Kuroo pauses outside the living room and gives him a perplexed look. The striped yukata fits Kuroo like a bathrobe, he notes and, before his mind could stray, focuses his attention on his laptop screen.

“I still have some work to do,” he lies and clicks on “Random article” on Wikipedia, which brings up a riveting page about the Ottonian Dynasty. “You can sleep first. Did you see the toothbrush?”

When Kuroo doesn’t answer, he looks up again. Kuroo seems crestfallen as he contemplates something, but then he utters a simple “okay” and disappears into the bedroom with Catsura trotting after him. Yaku sinks deeper into the couch, stares at the word _Liudolfinger_ for a minute, and shuts the lid of his laptop. He needs to shower and do laundry anyway. Maybe Kuroo will be asleep by then.

So it startles him to find Kuroo in front of the shelves, examining a volleyball. It was a birthday present from the Nekoma team two years ago: a signed volleyball in lieu of a card.

“Er,” Kuroo says, noticing Yaku, and replaces the volleyball on its stand where it’s displayed like a trophy. “Sorry. I was just... surprised you still had this.”

Yaku breaks into a smile. “Why wouldn’t I? It’s a nice gift. The best kind.”

Without waiting for a response, he makes his way to the bathroom. By the time he has showered, changed into his pajamas, and started the washing machine, Kuroo is lying on the futon with his eyes closed. Yaku hits the light switch and closes the door. The washing machine will run for forty minutes, so he settles on the couch again and puts the TV on mute.

He drifts off on the couch after he has transferred the clothes to the dryer. At some point in the night, he vaguely registers someone placing a blanket over him and turning off the lights, but he doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t react. His mind whirls, conjuring up vignettes of the past. Kuroo drooling on the bus. Kuroo bickering with him when they were stuck with the task of preparing a hundred water balloons for the cultural festival because their class representative argued, with no logic whatsoever, that they were the only ones playing a ball sport in their class and therefore must be good at everything ball-like. Kuroo catching his punch and pulling him into a warm embrace where he wants to stay.

His phone buzzes, and he jolts awake. Sunlight is streaming through the gap in the curtains. Clutching his blanket in confusion, he sits up, his head throbbing because of the dreams. He pads to his bedroom, where the door is wide open but the room is dark. At first he doesn’t see Kuroo, and he nearly panics, but he breathes a sigh of relief when he realizes Kuroo has merely burrowed his head under the pillow and transformed himself into a giant spring roll with both cats curled up next to him.

His phone buzzes again. Frowning, he goes back to the living room and picks up his phone.

Bokuto: WHAT HAPPENE DHWY IS KUROO AT YOUR P,ACE KENMA WONT TWLL ME  
Bokuto: I GOT WN ANRGY CALL FROM RISA JUST NOW SHW WANTS HIM TO FOLLECT HIS STUFF TODYA OTHERWSOEE SHELL THROW IT OIUT WHATOS OING ON

Yaku rubs his eyes and rereads the message. _Risa?_ That’s nowhere near the name Makoto or Matsuko or was it Matako. Is he misremembering or is it really another girl?

“Kuroo,” he says, returning to his room. “Kuroo, wake up.” He prods where Kuroo’s shoulder is under the covers, but Kuroo barely stirs. A prank from the bygone days of summer camp pops into his mind, and he yanks the pillow from Kuroo’s head.

“What the fuck? Who did that? If it’s Yamamoto—” Propping himself up on his elbows, Kuroo searches the room until his eyes meet Yaku’s, and the scowl on his face eases. “Yaku.”

Yaku’s mouth twitches, and he smacks Kuroo’s head with the pillow. “Wake up, sleepyhead. Risa wants you to collect your stuff today otherwise she’ll throw it out.”

The pillow tumbles to the floor. Whatever equanimity Kuroo possesses vanishes, leaving behind a trace of apprehension.

Ignoring the knot in his stomach and keeping his voice level, Yaku explains, “Bokuto texted me.”

Kuroo drops his head onto the pillow with a heavy sigh.

“So... Who’s Risa? I thought you were dating, what was her name again, Makoto?”

“Makoto? Oh, you mean Motoko. I broke up with her a long time ago.”

“Oh,” says Yaku. His throat is dry. He swallows, both saliva and the question of how many people Kuroo has dated since he started university. “What are you going to do now?” he asks instead, crouching down.

Kuroo shifts under the blanket. His eyes flicker from Yaku’s face to Yaku’s legs and back to Yaku’s face. Then he rolls over and throws an arm over his eyes. “Go back to Tokyo, I guess.”

 

**if it changes your life, let it**

 

Kuroo: we’re visiting you this sunday (Ф∀Ф) don’t make plans  
Yaku: What?  
Yaku: What are you plotting

Kuroo sipped at his tea, watching the other end of the table where Yaku was sitting between Lev and Fukunaga in the shabu-shabu restaurant. It was the last stop of their day trip before they boarded the train back to Tokyo, after trekking across Kyoto, from temple to temple, doing dumb tourist things. Lev had hogged Yaku’s attention for most of the trip, but despite Kai’s silent judgment on Kuroo’s part for lingering in the background, he preferred it this way, acting like how he’d always acted around the team—never too far from Yaku but never too close either.

“You’re such a hopeless idiot, you know,” Kai said to the person beside him.

Kuroo bristled. “What?”

“Why didn’t you sit next to him?”

“I never sit next to him. It would be weird if I suddenly did.”

“You always did when we were first-years. It was weird you suddenly stopped.”

“That was—shut up, you’re the only one who knows anything about that. It’s a different team now.”

“That’s why you’re a hopeless idiot. The way I see it, you and Yaku are both trapped in this peculiar mindset that might not even have made sense back in high school. You’ve been trapped in it for so long that it’s become a bad habit you can’t break. What’s the harm?”

Kuroo jabbed his chopsticks at the udon in his bowl. Were they really having a life discussion in the middle of shabu-shabu where the other half of the table comprised rowdy idiots who didn’t know how blessed they were that they could be around Yaku without a second thought? “I don’t know, man,” Kuroo muttered. He gazed at Yaku, taking in the animated expression and unreserved smile. “You see,” he continued in a low voice, “Yaku is just Yaku when I’m not treading on his toes. The moment I get too close, he becomes this frightened kitten trapped in a sewer. The more I try to reach for him, the more he retreats from me. But if I leave him alone, he... just—I get so confused.”

“Have you talked to him about it?”

 _Not really,_ he thought but refused to admit it out loud. _Because it wouldn’t go anywhere, and Kyoto happened like an ill-timed joke._

He placed his chopsticks on the table and grabbed his bag. They had thirty minutes before they had to leave for Kyoto Station. “Hey, Yaku!” He flashed a lazy grin when Yaku turned to him with a curious, unguarded look that tore at his heartstrings. “Catch!”

The volleyball arched over the long table, and Yaku caught it in front of his face. “You ass! Don’t throw things at people! Especially not at the dinner table!”

“But look at it, Yaku-san,” Lev said, beaming.

Yaku shot Lev a distracted look and inspected the volleyball. His expression softened as he rotated the ball, reading the birthday messages scribbled on it.

“Gift from the team,” Kuroo drawled. He was the only one who hadn’t spelled out a birthday wish, unable to locate the words that could convey his feelings, because _Happy Birthday_ was too bland and everything else too corny or inappropriate. So he’d simply doodled the grinning face of the Cheshire Cat. “For our favorite libero.”

 

**fall in mutual weirdness and call it love**

 

He’s crazy, Yaku decides as he rings Bokuto’s doorbell. He’s crazy for worrying about Kuroo after Kuroo declined his offer to accompany him to Kyoto Station that morning, insisting that he was fine, would be fine, had never been better, all the while avoiding Yaku’s eyes. He’s crazy for viewing his room as an enormous, empty hole after he stowed the futon, when in reality, he was reverting it to its previous, perfectly normal state. He’s crazy for believing that Kuroo will walk out of his life permanently if he doesn’t hop on the last train to Tokyo that day because it’s too easy to lie over the phone, too easy to hide. He is absolutely and utterly crazy.

Akaashi opens the door and blinks at him.

“Er,” says Yaku, surprised that he’s surprised to see Akaashi.

“Hi, come on in.” Akaashi moves out of the doorway and says to the adjacent room, “Kuroo-san, Yaku-san is here.”

“Ah, wait, how—”

Bokuto pokes his head into the hallway. “Hey hey, it really is Yakkun! Long time no see, buddy!”

“Hey, long time no...” Yaku’s voice trails off when Kuroo steps out of the room, wide-eyed.

“Yaku? What’re you doing here?”

“Uh, I-I just decided to visit... randomly. I was, uh, just wanted to make sure you got back okay.” _Stupid. Stupid, stupid._ His face is burning. The room is so quiet that he’s convinced everyone is listening to his rapid heartbeats. What voodoo does he need to practice in order to morph into an amnesiac mole?

“You’re welcome to spend the night here, Yaku-san,” says Akaashi.

“Huh? What? Why? No, it’s okay. I can just—”

“Let’s give them some space,” Akaashi tells Bokuto and ushers him to a different room. Comprehension dawns on Bokuto’s face, and he slaps Kuroo’s shoulder before he’s dragged away.

“Wait, I think you’ve misunderstood—” Yaku starts to protest but the door clicks shut. A beat. He looks at Kuroo, and Kuroo looks at him. This is the worst idea he has ever carried out. “Right, so,” he says, wishing he could shrink to a point and plead insanity. “It looks like you got back okay, so I’ll just... go now. I can stay with my parents. S-see you later.”

“Yaku.”

He turns the doorknob.

“Yaku, wait!” Kuroo slams his hand on the door, the motion banging the door shut and yanking the doorknob out of Yaku’s hand. “Yaku, just—hear me out for a sec.”

“Kuroo.” Yaku stares at the doorknob, frozen in his spot. Kuroo is too close. They’re not touching, but Kuroo’s warmth is spreading around him like wild fire. He is too close.

“Stay the night, Yaku. Please.”

“I-I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because...” _Because I can’t think straight when I’m with you. Because—_

“I know you were concerned about the team back then, and I was stupid enough to agree. But Yaku, there is no team anymore. Fucking Lev graduated a few months ago. So why can’t you give us a chance? Yaku, if I let you go right now, you’re never coming back. I know that, and I don’t want that.”

“But...” _But Risa. But Makoto actually Motoko._ His throat is constricting, and he can barely breathe.

Kuroo withdraws his arm, and cool air rushes in. Yaku looks over his shoulder. Kuroo has tilted his head upward, hands grasping his mop of black hair. “Yaku,” he says, his voice shaking. His whole body is shaking, causing tremors in his shirt. “You don’t know how much I wanted you last night. You don’t know how much I want you right now. I went to Kyoto because I just wanted to see you. I just wanted to talk to you, but god, Yaku, there was so much you everywhere. You were everywhere, but you were so far away at the same time. It hit me, when you fell asleep on the couch, that I was too late for everything. That I fucked up for good.” He inhales and and lowers his arms to look at Yaku. “Look. I promise I won’t do anything. We can make hot chocolate and watch a bad movie or play a board game with Bokuto or something. Anything. But Yaku, stay.”

And it occurs to Yaku that instant how truly unfair Kuroo is. He knows he can open the door, walk out, and never look back. But he also knows he’ll be hurting not one but two people if he chooses to do that. It’ll be his choice, his decision, his responsibility to bear. Life is so much easier when there is no choice.

 _I hate you sometimes,_ he thinks, giving up. He toes off his shoes and, walking toward the living room, stomps on Kuroo’s foot.

“Ow, shit. What was that for?”

It’s a reset. He remembers the first thing Kuroo said to him, complete with a shit-eating grin, when they joined the volleyball club: _“You’re cute. And small. Like a tiny kitten.”_ He stomped hard on Kuroo’s foot in response and earned himself the nickname “feral kitten” for two seconds before Kuroo surrendered, lying facedown on the ground and in a lot of pain.

It was where everything started, but maybe this time, it won’t lead to where everything ends.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The bold phrases between scenes are selected prompts from [March 2016 of 31 Days](http://31-days.livejournal.com/3171011.html). Catsura, Catoki, and Matako, whose voice actress is Risa, are Gintama Easter eggs.
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/ritzfics) | [tumblr](https://aritzen.tumblr.com/) | [writing journal](http://ritzfics.dreamwidth.org/tag/fic:+midnight+railway)


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